


Connections

by chronicAngel



Series: Leaves in the Summer [54]
Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: Arguing, Babies, Children, F/M, House Cleaning, Moving, Naruto Gaiden, POV Third Person, Pictures, Sick Character, Single Parents, Walking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 02:14:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicAngel
Summary: "...The connections between your mother, your father, and you... Is that really all they're made of? Bonds aren't made up of just time and blood! There's something stronger than both of those! ...Love. That's all you really need."SasuSaku Week 2018 Day 5: Favorite Quote About SasuSaku





	Connections

"...The connections between your mother, your father, and you... Is that really all they're made of? Bonds aren't made up of just time and blood! There's something stronger than both of those! ...Love. That's all you really need."

* * *

"Did he have glasses?"

The question seems out of nowhere, and Sakura is sure there is a context she has missed while hanging the laundry. "What?" She looks away once the towel in her hands hangs from the line, half-turning to face her daughter.

Sarada repeats herself, face seeming almost pained. It reminds her of the way the boys were when they were children, always trying to mask their true emotions and pretend they didn't care when really, she suspects they always did. _Well, then again, I guess that was only really Sasuke_... She schools her features to look like she's thinking about it, something she's grown used to, when really, she's confident the answer is no. She's been following Sasuke around like a lost puppy since they were in the Academy and would have known if he'd sported a pair growing up, but the thought of admitting that to their daughter is preposterous.

"I... don't think he did... I guess," she says, voice introspective.

She can tell she has answered wrong when she sees Sarada's half-gloved hands ball into fists at her sides and her eyes slide to her feet. Everything about her screams disappointment-- betrayal, even-- and it's an expression Sakura has worn too many times in her life not to recognize yet she doesn't understand. "You guess...? You're married to him, and you guess?" Her daughter's voice can hardly even be described as a mumble, smothered by bitterness. Sakura's heart throbs for a second with both sympathy for her child and fear that this will lead to the Uchiha clan's legendary Curse of Hatred even if the cycle was supposedly broken by her husband years before Sarada was even born. Still, she thinks of a plausible sounding lie.

"Well, your dad was never in the village much when he was younger..." She trails off, biting her lip, as Sarada continues to glare down at the ground, and then nervously adds "Uh, now as well, but...!" before she is expected to elaborate. She doesn't enjoy lying to her daughter, but the thought of telling her the details of Sasuke's defection in his youth fills her with dread. She knows she will have to some day.

"Hey mom..." Sarada starts, tone filled with a venom that almost makes Sakura grimace. They both keep their expressions flat, Sakura watching her daughter warily and Sarada leveling her mother with a mistrustful gaze. "Are you really his wife?"

Her temper flares.

"Now what is this all about?!" She yells, voice raising in pitch and volume as her anger spikes suddenly. She clenches one fist in the air in front of her, the urge to punch something already making her entire posture tense. "You're acting really strange today!"

Sarada meets this like a challenge. "The thing that's really strange is your relationship with dad," she starts, narrowed eyes finally meeting Sakura's. "No, strange is an understatement, to be honest--"

If she was planning to continue her sentence, she doesn't get the opportunity. "Sarada!" Sakura drives her fist into the ground and the earth beneath her knuckles immediately splinters and bursts around them. The towels, previously hanging from a line, flutter about uselessly multiple feet away and then land in dirty heaps on the ground, and Sakura is sure that she will have to wash them again once she's calmed down a bit. She glares up at her daughter only to see all of the anger has left her face, replaced with sadness. Her own rage quickly evaporates, guilt taking its place. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you... Dad's away on a really important job, you see... He'll be back soon!"

She scratches at her wrist, a nervous habit, when she sees the tears streaming down her daughter's cheeks.

"I'm sure our feelings are mutual, so I'm sure he'll be alright," she offers, face soft. Nothing makes her feel worse than seeing Sarada cry even when it isn't her fault, and knowing that she is the cause only makes her itch to step forward and wrap her daughter in a tight hug. The only thing that stops her from doing so is knowing that it's not what Sarada needs right now.

"How can you be so sure?" She asks.

 _Because I've loved your father as long as I can remember. Because I love_ you _so much. We both do. And because if something happens, I'll drag him back here myself_.

She doesn't get to say any of this before the ground, still adjusting to the loss of support after her tantrum, shakes underneath the weight of their house, which is caving in on itself when she tears her eyes away from her crying daughter. She's hardly registered what's happening before she sees the walls of the house crack and then collapse, the whole thing toppling in on itself like it is being devoured by the split ground underneath it. "The loan!" She cries, and then feels a familiar sensation of lightheadedness.

* * *

She leans up to grab a well-loved book from the shelf, the title on the spine wearing away with age and frequent use. _金太郎_. One of Sarada's favorites from when she was a toddler. They'd stopped reading it when she was three after Sasuke left for his mission. Her heart throbs.

"I'm home!" The door clatters as it closes behind Sarada, and Sakura smiles fondly as she returns the book to its usual position and begins dusting again while Sarada takes her shoes off at the house's entrance.

"Welcome home, Sarada," she says, turning from where she stands on a chair in the mostly-empty living room. Most of their furniture has been packed at this point for their prospective move. ( _A change in location could be nice, Mama_ , Sarada had said. _Plus, this house is way too big for just you and me_. It was the last point that had convinced her.) Sarada just sighs with all the weight of a genin squad who has just been sent on another cat retrieval mission.

Scuffing her toes against the floor, she starts, "Mama..." She recognizes the tone from her own complaints after long days, though she usually complains to the empty air (or, on days when they both have more time, Ino). "Boys are sooo..." She pauses for what Sakura suspects is dramatic effect, but may very well be Sarada trying to settle on the right word to describe it. "Stupid," she finishes with a small huff, and she has to stop herself from laughing before she realizes what her daughter most likely means. Face dropping, she moves to put down the duster and get off the chair she has been standing on to reach the top of the bookshelf.

"Huh? Was it Boruto again?" There was a time when Naruto's son would come to hide at their house after his childish antics. She can still remember the last time it happened.

Sarada looks thoughtful for a moment. "Well, he is... kinda similar to me in some ways..." She trails off, mumbling, and Sakura smiles to herself. She remembers having thoughts like that about Naruto, once, when she'd stopped letting herself hate him for no reason like every other person in the village. She can still vividly remember their first time meeting Kakashi-sensei and the feeling of joy when the eraser Naruto had propped in the door hit the top of their teacher's head. At the time, she had thought he was such a joke. Not even weeks later she would learn how terrifying their sensei could be, stuck uselessly in the background while Naruto and Sasuke and Kakashi all risked their lives around her. The memory almost makes her smile, the strangest nostalgia blooming in her chest. _I've come so far since then... All of us have_.

* * *

"Hey... Mama..." Sarada's voice sounds like she's been crying, and panic floods Sakura for a moment before she looks to see her daughter's dry face. "When's Papa coming back?"

 _Oh_.

"It's a really difficult mission, so it's gonna take a while," she says, picking up another dish to begin washing even as she carefully studies Sarada's expression. Her father has been gone for nearly three years now. Truthfully, Sakura has been wondering for a long while when she was going to hear this question.

"Doesn't he care about you though?" Her voice is so small that Sakura almost doesn't catch it.

"Huh?" She drops the dish back into the sink. "Of course he does!"

Sarada's little brows knit together and she says in the softest voice Sakura has ever heard, "Well then why doesn't he come back to us?"

She doesn't know how to properly explain this to her. She imagines that Naruto or else Sasuke himself would be much better at explaining how important it is that Sasuke be on this mission than she is, as she imagines they are both without the bias of wishing they could see him again. She's sure she misses him as much as Sarada does.

"Sarada..." She starts, crouching down in front of her daughter and wiping the dishwater from her hands with her apron. "You and I are very important to Papa," she says, watching helplessly as Sarada looks down at her feet. "That's exactly why he can't come home. You might not understand it right now, but I know one day you'll get it." Sarada sniffles, tears welling up in her eyes. Sakura's heart throbs and she leans forward to grab Sarada, pulling her into a hug tight enough that she can feel her chest heaving with her sobbing breaths even as she tries to quiet herself. _She's been through so much for only a six-year-old_...

"Mama... Too tight..."

She lets out a yelp of surprise and pulls back. "S-sorry," she laughs. "You were just so cute... I couldn't help myself." Lifting her glasses to wipe at her tears, Sarada smiles, cheeks tinted with a blush that hides the tear trails. Quickly, her expression changes from one of sadness to one of excitement, though there's a curious glint in her eye that reminds Sakura more of Ino than of Sasuke or herself. She can easily envision the Yamanaka's impish grin on her six-year-old's face.

"...Did you ever kiss Papa?" Her voice is almost conspiratorial, as though she knows that the answer is yes and is simply waiting for her mother to answer so she can probe her for more information. _She_ definitely _needs to spend less time around Ino_.

She presses a finger to her lip as she thinks, smiling. Of course she has kissed her husband, but her mind quickly wanders. _It's a journey of atonement, too. And you have nothing to do with my crimes._ She lifts her hand from her mouth to her forehead, palm pressing gently against the purple seal on her forehead. _Maybe next time_. If she focuses hard enough, she can almost feel his fingers tapping the seal again, like he was a tourist and she was a destination and he was trying to point something out in her landscape. She giggles to herself, feeling like the same giddy, shocked teenage girl she was years ago. "What? What's wrong?" Sarada says, still grinning, pulling Sakura out of her thoughts.

"It's just..." She starts, smiling more to herself than to Sarada. "I remembered something even better than that."

Sarada's face falls, her eyebrows furrowing and glasses flaring to hide her eyes. "Mama... That's dirty..."

Blushing, she waves her hands through the air in front of her, laughing in embarrassment. "No, no! Not that."

She immediately lights up, straightening. "Hey! Then what's better than a kiss?" She yells, eyes wide. Rather than answering, Sakura lifts her hand and presses her fingers into Sarada's forehead, smiling.

"I'll tell you next time," she says, and Sarada looks dazed. Her eyes are wide and her mouth hangs open, staring at her mother in what Sakura can only describe as awe. She wonders if that's what she looked like the first time Sasuke had tapped her forehead.

"...What's up all of a sudden?" She asks.

"...You'll understand when you see your Papa," she says, smiling, and Sarada seems to decide that's good enough, holding a hand to her forehead before she runs off to get ready for Academy. Sakura watches her fondly for a minute, and then returns to the dishes.

* * *

Sarada has, of course, been sick before. At the age of four, it'd be abnormal if she hadn't gotten sick at least once even if she'd inherited Sakura's excellent immune system. Still, when she spikes a fever of 40 degrees out of nowhere as they're beginning their bedtime routine, the medic-nin in Sakura who sees dying children nearly every day worries more than she knows is necessary.

"Mama, I'm fine..." She mumbles into Sakura's shoulder while she carries her to her bed, holding her little body too tightly. Sarada has never seemed smaller, curled up against her mother's chest and fighting sleep nowhere near as effervescently as she would on a normal night. She will insist for hours she isn't tired if it gets Sakura to stay with her.

Her hair is still wet from her bath and it drips cold water against her pillows as Sakura lays her down and tucks her in securely before pressing her lips against Sarada's forehead. Her temperature has dropped a bit, but not enough that it provides Sakura with any real comfort, and she rushes so she doesn't have to leave her daughter alone for too long to get a washcloth and soak it with cool water. Sarada simply turns from where she was laying on her side, arms wrapped tightly around the large stuffed bear next to her, so her mother can place the folded, damp cloth on her face. She lingers at her bedside, singing lullabies she vaguely remembers from her own childhood long after Sarada has drifted off.

She tries to leave her side multiple times, but finds herself checking on Sarada every few minutes until she gives up and sits down at the side of the bed. She wishes Sasuke were here, partially because he's always steadied her when she flew into a panic and partially because if their daughter dies or is seriously affected by her illness, she wants her husband to be there. Of course, she always wants her husband to be there, finds herself missing him every spare second she has between working and taking care of Sarada. She can hardly believe it has already been a year since he left, and yet there is an aching feeling in her gut that has only been growing, constantly reminding her that he is gone. _But he'll be back soon_ , she reminds herself in a dull attempt to be cheerful, reaching up and squeezing one of Sarada's pudgy hands.

She paces around the room eventually, tidying up until it looks unnaturally clean for the room of a toddler and she has nothing else to do but worry. Sarada doesn't wake up periodically the way she does when she's sick, and it leaves Sakura to panic every time she looks at her, wondering if she's still breathing and hurriedly checking her temperature again.

It must be nearly two in the morning when she finally settles down, having exhausted herself from all of her fussing and pacing. She sinks to the floor at the foot of Sarada's bed and leans against it, preparing to only half-sleep in case something happens.

* * *

"Hey... where's my dad?" Sarada asks when Sakura enters the room, peering up at the little picture frame filled with old pictures of the two of them as teenagers and Sarada when she was a baby. Sasuke left for his mission two months ago, and by now their three-year-old has realized that this is much longer than he is typically gone even for particularly long operations. For a normal assignment, he would have been back weeks ago. For this one, Sakura isn't sure if or when he will ever be back, but she doesn't know how to explain that to a three-year-old without scaring her.

"He's off on an important mission. Once that's finished, he'll be back," she says, trying to keep her voice from sounding too much like a promise.

Sarada looks between her mother and the pictures skeptically for a moment before seeming to decide that this is the best answer she will get and walking off to go play, leaving Sakura behind trying not to frown. She picks up the pictures, glancing over all of them. The one in the bottom corner is new, taken by Naruto only a few weeks ago when they'd all gathered to celebrate Kakashi-sensei's birthday and Sarada had run in, flush-faced, from where she'd been playing in the backyard with Boruto to happily sing to her honorary uncle. She'd considered asking Kakashi for Sasuke's last coordinates to send the picture to him, but had decided against it for fear of compromising his position. Her eyes slide over to her husband's photo, his expression surly, and her thumb brushes over his face fondly. _Please come home soon_...

* * *

She sits on the couch with her legs tucked up under her, eyes flitting over a new medical scroll she'd gotten a week ago from Tsunade-sama for her birthday but hasn't had the time to read until now. Sarada sits on a pillow a few meters away, hugging a stuffed rabbit larger than she is to her body and babbling something in baby talk, while Sasuke sits next to her on the couch, narrowing his eyes at their daughter in frustration. She doesn't have to ask what's wrong. Boruto, Naruto's son, took his first steps nearly three months ago when he was only eleven months old, and Naruto hasn't shut up about it since then. Sarada's first birthday was four days ago and she doesn't seem to have given even a thought to walking, content with crawling around or else being carried by one of her parents to every destination.

"I don't understand," he says after a moment, uncharacteristically breaking the silence. She glances up from her scroll for a moment to look at his face, amused, before returning to the line she was reading.

"You don't understand what, darling?" He must hear the mirth in her voice because she catches him scowling out of the corner of her eyes, his own mismatched pair leaving their daughter for the first time since she started playing with the stuffed animal nearly half an hour ago. His attention snaps back to Sarada when she drops the bunny and crawls over to another toy, a well-loved stuffed cat that belonged to Sasuke when he was a child.

His posture, previously tense, drops when she settles on her butt again, cuddling her face into the top of her conquest's head. "That _idiot's_ son is walking before our daughter. I don't understand." With a sigh, she rolls the scroll up again, making a mental note of where she was, and puts it off to the side. She had hoped, when she first found out about Naruto and Hinata's son, who is only a couple of months older than their daughter, that the boys' childish rivalry could be set aside in regards to their children. It became clear that this wouldn't be the case when Sarada said her first words two months ago, only a week before Boruto but still held over Naruto's head smugly every time their families get together.

"Some children just reach milestones like that later than others." Her tone is almost placating, her hand moving to grab Sasuke's and squeeze. It is not something that _should_ legitimately bother him. After all, one year is still remarkably young to begin walking, from what she's read and observed in their friends' children. With the exception of their own daughter and Naruto and Shikamaru's sons, none of the other children have begun potty training, and much like Sasuke has been holding it over Naruto's head, she feels a smug satisfaction whenever she recalls that Inojin still hasn't said his first words.

"Not _Uchiha_ children," he insists, rare clan pride shining through his clear annoyance.

She knows he is right even as she thinks it is a ridiculous expectation to hold someone to. Itachi, apparently, began walking when he was only six months old, truly a prodigy from birth. Both of his parents were speaking sentences before they were one, according to him, and she already knows the legends of the Uchiha clan's ninjutsu because she grew up hearing about it. After all, they were already seven by the time Itachi killed the Uchiha and it was treated like a forbidden subject.

She sighs, squeezing Sasuke's hand again before dropping it. "She's still so little. And comparing her to a bunch of people who were killed a decade and a half ago hardly seems fair," she points out, blunt but truthful.

He flinches and she feels a pang of guilt immediately, but before she can backtrack he stands. "Hm. You're right." It's not what she expects to hear from him and she watches him with furrowed eyebrows, concerned, as he walks to their daughter.

She raises her arms expectantly to be picked up but instead he takes only one of her hands, pulling her to an upright position. Her legs wobble underneath her for a moment until she uses her father to balance herself, looking up at him with an expression of annoyance that perfectly mirrors the one he wore only minutes ago. Slowly, he walks her to the couch where Sakura sits, pausing to pull her back onto her feet when she tries to sit down, looking at her father with a flat look.

"Papa," she huffs in her tiny voice, glaring between her parents as though silently asking her mother to put a stop to this. To the contrary, Sakura gets up as well, expression amused, and takes Sarada's other hand. Together, they walk with her around the house until she gains enthusiasm for the task at hand, moving her legs in long, sweeping steps that she would most certainly fall in the middle of if her parents weren't holding her hands tightly until eventually she tires herself out, grabbing her stuffed cat and dozing between the two of them. Picking her up and holding her against her chest while she does her best to doze off, Sakura smiles at her husband.

"Satisfied?" She whispers. Sasuke just smiles as much as he ever allows himself to and gestures toward the stairs.


End file.
